


little tree, little silent christmas tree

by orphan_account



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Minor Melinda May/Grant Ward, ambiguously s1, because i wanted ot4, in a canon where grant ward is in no way affiliated with hydra, so i wrote myself ot4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 15:04:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2855120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitz, Simmons, Skye, Ward, and Christmas.</p><p>(Set ambiguously in the first season timeline, in a universe where Grant Ward is in no way affiliated with HYDRA.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	little tree, little silent christmas tree

**Author's Note:**

> Big hugs to Juliana (owlvsdove) for being such an awesome beta!

It’s approaching 23:00 on Christmas Eve, and Fitz is unable to sleep. His bunk feels too confining, tonight, so he’s forgone his bed for the negligible comfort of the Bus’ living room couch. He’s long since been the last one up and still moving about, despite the relative earliness of the hour.

An abandoned notebook rests before him on a low table, covered in half-finished sketches and small improvements on various designs. His eyes are on the miniature Christmas tree in the corner, the little pine Skye had managed to pick up outside a Home Depot and later string with little flashing red and green lights.

They hadn’t had much in the way of ornaments, so they’d made do on a slow day with homemade paper snowflakes and other cutouts. As a joke, somebody’s hung Coulson’s Grumpy Cat mug from one of the sturdier branches.

He sighs. It’s nice here, but he can’t say he’s not missing home, just a little bit. He’s actively trying not to think about it, but thinking that his mum might be alone this year has left an ache in his chest.

He’s lost in thought for a few more minutes. Then,

“Fitz?”

He startles, turns to see Simmons in the doorway, rubbing at her eyes.

Her hair’s piled on her head in a messy bun, and she’s dressed what might possibly qualify as the cutest reindeer pajama set in the history of, well, pretty much anything. Or at least reindeer pajamas.

“Hey, Jem,” he says, patting the couch beside him. “Can’t sleep?”

She shakes her head, making her way over to him.

“Scooch,” she says, and he shifts to give her a place to sit.

“All right if I join you?” she asks, through a yawn. Without waiting for an answer, she promptly drapes herself over the other half of the couch, settling her head on his lap.

He nods. Then, realizing she can’t see him, “Yeah, of course.”

“Come here often?” she jokes, lightly. She barely feels like any weight at all against him, loose and sleep-warm.

He smiles.

“Couldn’t sleep, that’s all.” He won’t trouble her with his negligible yearnings for home, he thinks. Doesn’t want to risk stirring up her own homesickness unnecessarily.

As it turns out, though, he doesn’t need to.

“Well, I— I’m kind of missing home, myself,” she says, honestly and quickly, as though it’s childish, something to be ashamed of. She’s watching the little tree, too, eyes drawn to the blinking lights cast onto the walls. 

He looks down at her, surprised.

“Uh, yeah. Me too, actually,” he admits, a moment later, rubbing at the back of his neck.

 “Just,” she says, and pauses. “I was always home, before. Even at the Academy, at Sci-Ops, we always went home for the holidays, you know?”

 He nods. “Yeah. It’s… weird, not being there.” He trails off, watching her profile.

 “We should call your mum in the morning,” she says, after a minute or so. “Maybe video chat if we’ve the time?”

He’s glad she can’t see him, because he’s sure the undisguised affection on his face might give her pause.

“That’s. A really good idea, thanks,” he says, gratefully. Then, almost as an afterthought, “You have to call your parents too, though. That’s the deal.”

She sighs, rolls over a bit to face him. “I know,” she says, with something close to reluctance. “I’ve been avoiding their calls for weeks, and yet, I’m homesick. A bit backward, huh?”

“No, I don’t think so,” he says, slowly, rolling the words around in his mouth. “We’re just. Doing something different, that’s all. It’s, uh. A reasonable response, I think.”

She nods. They sit in silence for a while, his hands absently in her hair the way she likes.

At some point, she looks to her watch.

“Would you look at that,” she says, tapping his knee. “Midnight. Happy Christmas, Fitz.”

“Happy Christmas, Jemma,” he says, softly.

— 

Skye wanders in a little while later, fiddling with her phone a moment longer, before sliding it into her sweatpants pocket.

“Hi, guys,” she says, brightly, leaning against the doorframe. “Did I miss a late-night team-meeting memo, or is this a FitzSimmons-only shindig?”

“The more the merrier,” Fitz says, at the same moment Jemma says, “Join us!”

She flashes them a grin, walks over to sit beside them. She shifts Jemma’s legs aside to scoot underneath, then resettles them across her lap, drums her hands lightly across Jemma’s ankles.

“So, what’s got you kids up at this hour?” she asks. “Too much Earl Grey? An especially scary Christmas episode of _Doctor Who?”_

“It’s only midnight,” Jemma says, rolling her eyes.

“You do remember we’re older than you, right?” Fitz reminds. “By several years?” 

“Only in years, my dear Fitz,” Skye replies, sagely. “Only in years.”

He opens his mouth to respond smartly, but Jemma preemptively shushes him, waving her hand at them.

“Guys, shh. Shh. S’Christmas. No bickering.”

Fitz and Skye exchange a look, settling back into the couch. Jemma stretches across them with a small noise of contentment.

“Better,” she says. Then, to Skye, “The tree’s quite nice, by the way.”

They lapse into easy silence, enjoying the warmth radiating off one another, the quietude of the hour.

“We always had a tree at St. Agnes’,” Skye says thoughtfully, a little while later. Fitz and Jemma start a little bit, turn toward her in curiosity. “I mean, I don’t think I was ever with a family long enough to spend Christmas in an actual _house_ ,” she elaborates, voice carefully nonchalant. “So. I was always there for the holidays. The nuns were always a little bit nicer around Christmas, so we all looked forward to it, the other kids and I.” 

She goes quiet for a moment, thinking. Her eyes are soft on the little tree, a smile curling at her mouth. FitzSimmons are patient, not wanting to interrupt.

“We didn’t really get presents, of course,” she continues, a little faster, now, so she can’t take anything back. “But, it was like. It seemed like such a _luxury_. The orph— _St. Agnes’_ wasn’t really well off, I guess. So it seemed like a pretty big deal to have a tree every year. If we were lucky, it was a real pine. When the nuns weren’t looking, we’d go up to it and run our hands across the needles, so they’d smell good. It wasn’t a lot. But it was a lot for us, you know?”

“Yeah,” Fitz says, after a moment. “Yeah, of course.”

“We understand,” says Jemma, gently. “That sounds lovely.”

And they don’t understand, not really. They couldn’t, but they’re trying. And that matters.

Skye nods. “It was.”

Jemma reaches a hand back to squeeze her wrist, once. Fitz bumps her elbow with his. Skye’s smile widens.

The quiet that follows doesn’t last very long.

“Christmases with my family were always pleasant,” Jemma starts. “Though very formal. Lots of stiff upper lips, elderly relatives, and all that. We always began decorating before Thanksgiving—”

“—because her house is bloody _huge_ —” Fitz interjects.

She twists around, narrows her eyes at him. _“_ _Hush._ My turn to talk.” She settles her head back on his knee. “As I was saying,” she continues, “we always began decorating before Thanksgiving, garlands and things. A great big fir tree for our living room, my favorite decoration. My extended family, aunts and uncles and grandparents would come round.” She wrinkles her nose, unconsciously. “It was always a bit stuffy, though. I’m an only child, so, I don’t know. I think my grandparents thought of me more as a talking porcelain doll than a little girl. Mostly, I looked forward to the presents,” she says. “I always got chemistry sets.”

“How very materialistic of you, Simmons,” Fitz teases. 

“It’s not my fault!” she protests. “I didn’t have anyone my age to really talk to, so it was actually rather lonely, at times.”

Weirdly enough, Skye can sort-of empathize.

A moment later, though, she perks back up. “Well, until the first time I dragged _you_ along. Best holiday decision I’ve ever made, probably.”

His mouth quirks up.

 _“Wait,_ oh my God,” Skye says, loudly, then claps a hand over her over her mouth, when they motion for her to keep her voice down. “Oh, my God,” she says, more quietly, “are you telling me you brought him to family Christmas? Like, pretty much as soon as you met him? That’s _cute_ —”

“Well, yes,” Jemma says, a funny almost-shyness creeping into her voice. Lower, “It was a great deal more enjoyable, after that.”

 _“Aww,”_ Skye crows, and elbows Fitz in the side.

“What was that for?” he sputters, and the girls can’t help but laugh. “Seriously, what?”

“That’s seriously adorable,” is all Skye says, with that private smile. 

“What’s adorable?” comes a voice from the hall. Collectively, they jump.

Then,

“Oh, Ward, we’re sorry,” Jemma says, apologetically, propping herself up on Fitz’s knee. “We didn’t wake you, did we?”

He shakes his head, padding into the room on bare feet, hair mussed from obvious tossing and turning. “You’re fine. I couldn’t sleep, anyway.”

“Oh, good,” she says, relieved, and flops back down. Then, “Er— not that you couldn’t sleep, I didn’t mean— Just that you were already awake—”

“C’mon over,” Skye interrupts, cheerfully. “You’re just in time for sharing-time!” Then, “Well, actually, no. You missed mine, and Jemma’s. I’ll recap for you later.”

He blinks at her a few times, and then decides to just go with it. Takes a place by her feet, back against the couch.

“Fitz was just about to share,” Skye asserts. She bumps his elbow. “What about you, nerd?” she asks, affectionately. “Does the Fitz family have any particularly weird holiday traditions we should know about?” 

Jemma snorts. He watches the floor, thinking.

“Well, uh.” He scratches the back of his neck, contemplative. “Not really. Christmas mass was always my favorite part, I think. My mum and I,  we went every week, of course, but Christmas was different. More… hopeful. We went into town for the service, and then we always went home and had a really nice dinner.”

Head in his lap, Jemma sighs, contentedly.

"Huh. I never would’ve pegged you as the religious type,” Skye says, curiously. “I mean. No offense.”

He shrugs. “I was raised Catholic. Christmas Mass was — _is_ — a sort-of, um. Tradition, I guess. It was always something we did together, my mum and me. My father’s never really been in the picture, so it’s always been just us at Christmas, for the most part. But we always had a nice time. She always made it special, even though didn’t always have a lot of money, especially when I was younger, before I could work, you know, and, uh. Help her out. But she never complained.” He shakes his head, wonderingly. “She never complained. She always managed to make it good.” 

He pauses, contemplative. “And Jemma, too, she came with us,” he adds, “after we met at the Academy.”

She turns to smile at him.

“I like your mum,” she murmurs, curling up against his knee.

“Well, good, because she likes you too,” he laughs, running a hand lightly across her hair. “I think she’s just really excited to have a girl around who isn’t one of my aunts. 

 _Gross,_ Skye mouths to Ward, pulling a face. He flashes her the barest hint of a smile.

No one expects Ward to say anything at all. So, when in fact he does speak, everyone’s surprised.

“Christmases weren’t too bad, when I was a kid,” he says. The others hush, watching him from the corners of their eyes. Holding themselves very still, so as not to disturb this likely incredibly rare glimpse into his early years. “When I was a kid, things were… not quite as bad.” He shakes his head, remembering. “My older brother wasn’t quite old enough to be calculating, and I took care of my younger brother in peace, most of the time. Our parents went off to do… whatever the hell they did, and we spent the day with my grandparents. They did the best they could to give us a nice Christmas. ” He shrugs, simply, looking like he might retreat back into himself any moment now.

“That sounds… nice,” Skye says, hesitantly.

“Sounds like they really cared about you,” Jemma says, softly. Fitz is silent, contemplative.

Ward nods. “It was. And they did.”

And that’s it, from him. And yet, it’s so much.

—

May’s the one to find them a few hours later, on her way to the cockpit with a steaming mug of tea. It’s close to four, still dark. She attempts to pass by without comment, then sighs to herself and turns back.

Ward stirs first, already sensing her in the doorway, though her footsteps are silent.

“Comfortable?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

He drags a hand across his eyes, then casts a look around. Jemma’s curled against Fitz, her fingers resting protectively on his leg. Fitz’s head is leaned against the back of the couch, mouth open, snoring lightly. Ward’s back is pressed against a sleeping Skye’s legs.

He shrugs, as if to say, _well enough_ _._ When he shifts, it rouses Skye out of her doze, and she nudges Fitz awake.

“Get to bed, guys,” May says, not unkindly. “Big day ahead of you.”

Slowly, they pull themselves to their feet, begin to drag themselves out. Skye first, May shifts to the side to give them room.

“Merry Christmas, May,” Skye yawns, passing by. 

May gives her a nod. “Merry Christmas.”

Reluctant to wake her, Fitz gathers Jemma into his arms with as little disturbance as possible. Instinctively, she curls into his chest, twisting her fingers into his shirt.

“Up we go,” he says, quietly fond. She sighs contentedly into his neck, half-waking. 

“Oh, hello, May,” Jemma mumbles, sleepily, as they pass by. “Happy Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas, Jemma,” she says, returning Fitz’s nod. She waits until they’re out of sight to allow herself a momentary, private smile.

The room is empty now but for Ward, who lingers, hand on the doorframe.

“Mind some company?” he asks, inclining his head toward the cockpit. “Doubt I’ll be sleeping any more tonight.”

Something close to gratification flickers over her face. Without answering, she turns to go.

Then,

“If you want,” she says, placidly, over her shoulder.

Naturally, he follows.

—

Upstairs, Fitz nudges Jemma’s door open with his hip.

Comfortable and sleepy, she’s loathe to let go of him, but he lowers her carefully to the mattress, tucks the blankets around her.

"I fell asleep?" she asks, drowsily. Burrowing herself further into the comforter.

“Yeah.” Fitz nods, stepping back to put a reasonable distance between them. “I, uh. Brought you up.”

“Thanks,” she says. 

“Yeah, of course.” He doesn’t know why he can’t look at her. Then,

"Sorry you didn’t get to see your family this year," he says, eyes on the floor. "Maybe next year we’ll get to go home, yeah?"

She doesn’t answer for a moment, and he thinks she might have fallen asleep. He just shakes his head, affectionately rueful, and heads for the door.

“Yeah, I did,” she mumbles, and he stops, has to reapproach in order to hear. She reaches out a lazy hand, taps him on the arm. “You were there.”

He looks down, to keep her from seeing the smile that’s spread across his face.

“Oh, yeah?” He coughs. “Well. All right, then.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I think I’m going to let you sleep now, huh?”

She hums in assent. This is his cue to leave.

As he’s crossing the room and then closing the door, he’s thinking two things:

One. He won’t hold this against her in the morning. Probably.

And, two. Right now, right this very second? Maybe he wouldn’t trade this for anywhere else in the world.

—

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! As always, commentary and constructive criticism are very much appreciated, if you can spare the time. ♥


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